


Said the Turtle to the Bagpipe

by DoctorTrekLock



Series: Resolution19 [17]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Author may have been sleep deprived when picking the title, Established Relationship, Human traffickers die, M/M, Phil gets a little shot, Robin Hood band-aids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 20:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18506788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTrekLock/pseuds/DoctorTrekLock
Summary: "Some might call me old-fashioned, but if I'm being honest, there are nights when I’m just not in the mood to be held at knife-point." There was a distinct drawl to the senior agent’s voice that seemed at odds with the sharp blade scraping against his throat and causing blood to well up along its silver surface.Clint barely managed to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at the serene tone of his handler’s voice. Only Coulson could be that damn calm while being used as a human shield by a human trafficker and still bleeding sluggishly from a bullet hole in his shoulder.





	Said the Turtle to the Bagpipe

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "It may come as a surprise, but if I'm being honest, there are nights when I'm simply not in the mood to be held at knifepoint."  
> Source: <http://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/154900422642/livebloggingmydescentintomadness-tweet-meme>  
> Title: "The Bagpipe Who Didn't Say No" by Shel Silverstein
> 
> Originally Posted April 17, 2019 on [Tumblr](http://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/184266028832/said-the-turtle-to-the-bagpipe-april-17-2019)

"Some might call me old-fashioned, but if I'm being honest, there are nights when I’m just not in the mood to be held at knife-point." There was a distinct drawl to the senior agent’s voice that seemed at odds with the sharp blade scraping against his throat and causing blood to well up along its silver surface.

Clint barely managed to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at the serene tone of his handler’s voice. Only Coulson could be that damn calm while being used as a human shield by a human trafficker and still bleeding sluggishly from a bullet hole in his shoulder.

On the floor below where Clint was hidden in the beams of the warehouse, Human Trafficker held Coulson in front of him. Coulson's hands were already zip-tied together behind him (courtesy of the half hour he'd spent in Trafficker's custody before backup had arrived), and Trafficker was gripping him tightly by the upper arm, holding him close, a knife clutched in his other hand. His grip was also helping keep Coulson upright. Clint could see him swaying slightly where he stood, his face pale from blood loss and his weight shifting on his feet as he tried to remain vertical.

"Shut up," Trafficker snarled at Coulson. "Before I make you."

There were three other burly henchmen behind and flanking Trafficker, each one armed and aiming a submachine gun at the two lone figures directly beneath Clint's feet. One was a bald Hispanic man with glasses and a tie. The other was a redheaded woman in an evening dress.

Clint and Coulson had been tasked with checking on the warehouse while the other two members of their team went undercover at a swanky party across town. As soon as the pair had set foot in the warehouse, they were under fire. Clint had gotten separated from his handler immediately and had been pinned down across the warehouse when Coulson was captured. Clint had managed to escape into the catwalks suspended above the floor, where he'd dispatched all who followed him with extreme prejudice. By this point, he was pretty sure that the three on the floor were the only ones of Trafficker's bunch still alive.

Coulson had called for backup as soon as they realized the warehouse wasn't as empty as anticipated, but it had still taken Sitwell and Natasha nearly an hour to leave the party and make it to the warehouse. Below Clint, he could hear Sitwell's calm voice as he tried to engage Trafficker in conversation, but he tuned it out. Coulson was still pale, and Clint could see him struggling to keep from nicking his skin on the knife. They had better get this over with soon, before Coulson lost more blood than he already had.

Nat seemed to realize that too. She was talking now, playing slightly-bad-cop. It was like bad-cop, but less likely to get a captured ally killed over a misplaced threat. Coulson didn't do anything as obvious as glance up, but he took a breath and gently rolled his shoulders, which Clint took as the sign it was.

He settled down into a crouch on the metal grating, balancing perfectly on the balls of his feet in his well-worn boots. He pulled two arrows out of his quiver and fit them both to the string. Then he held the bow loosely in front of him and his body relaxed, as if he were sunbathing on the hundred and third floor of a Manhattan skyscraper instead of supervising from a catwalk as his best friends tried to keep his boyfriend from getting his throat slit.

Goon One looked professionally bored - alert and passive, waiting to be needed. Goon Two was getting increasingly nervous as the conversation escalated, glancing back and forth between the undercover SHIELD agents and his boss as his fingers tightened on the stock of the gun. Goon Three held his gun with limp fingers, staring off into the middle distance, completely zoned out. Trafficker himself was working himself up into quite the agitated frenzy as Sitwell chimed back in.

"I'm not sure the Italians will see it that way." And Sitwell's mild tone was straight out of Coulson's playbook, designed to make you so unobtrusive you would either vanish in plain sight or drive your enemy mad, depending on the context.

This was the latter situation. "Well you can tell the Italians--" Trafficker's apoplectic rage was abruptly cut off by the arrow in his throat. In his frenzy, the arm holding the knife flush to Coulson's neck had loosened. Now, with Trafficker permanently distracted, Coulson threw himself backwards enough to widen the gap before turning and maneuvering out of arm's reach.

Half a second after the first arrow found its mark, a second took out Goon One while twin shots rang out from Sitwell and Nat, leaving Goons Two and Three lying on the concrete.

Clint slid his bow onto his back, vaulted the railing of the catwalk, and quickly made his way down to the floor, landing gently next to Nat in a crouch. He straightened up and matched her step-for-step to Coulson, who was swaying more noticeably, but still on his feet.

"C'mon, sir," Clint said affectionately, resisting the urge to pull his boyfriend into a tight hug with a kiss. "There's a first aid kit in the car." Instead, he put an arm around Coulson to help brace him while Natasha took the other side, her gun vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. She cut the zip-tie with a knife she pulled from thin air and gently rubbed circulation back into abused wrists. Coulson swayed forward a bit at that, nearly overbalancing.

"Easy, there," Nat murmured as she steadied him.

Sitwell walked around them, double-checking all four figures on the ground were down. Clint knew he'd also be keeping an eye out for any other belligerents, giving the two of them a chance to get Coulson medical attention.

Coulson hummed absently in agreement with Clint, leaning heavily on the two agents flanking him as they slowly made their way to the door of the warehouse. "A bandage...might be nice," Coulson managed breathlessly. Now that he was surrounded only by friends, the calm facade that had kept him upright and on alert had cracked, and Coulson was fading fast. The hole in his shoulder had mostly stopped bleeding, but there was still enough to dye his snow white shirt a deep crimson.

"A band-aid," Clint suggested. "I think we've got some with Cap's shield on 'em. Whadda you think, Nat?"

Natasha gave the matter serious thought, the palm of her hand pressed tight enough to Coulson's bullet wound to make him hiss. "I think we used all of those up in Quebec. But I'm pretty sure there's some Robin Hood ones in there still."

Clint pouted a little at the idea of Coulson using up his Robin Hood band-aids. "Those are limited edition!"

Coulson huffed. "That's alright, Barton." He winced. "Pretty sure I need something a little bigger anyway."

Sitwell snorted from where he was following behind them.

"Don't worry, sir," Clint told him cheerily. "I'll share."

"Oh joy," Coulson sighed as the four of them shuffled out of the warehouse into the cool night.


End file.
